


everyone needs a coach

by indragram



Series: silas lawn tennis club [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, fluffy af, i like angst, tennis club au, which is not my style, will tag other characters later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indragram/pseuds/indragram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tennis club au you never asked for and probably didn't even want<br/>ft Lawstein brotp</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> maybe a 2 or 3 shot, idk. i just had the idea and decided to run with it. the other parts aren't written yet, but are planned, feel free to yell at me via tumblr (indragram.tumblr.com)
> 
> beta-d by my buddy mo, who happens to be v enthusiastic about hollstein

“Hey Broody, I’m going to make some coffee, you want some?” Danny asks from behind you. You can see her leaning against the doorway in the reflection on your computer screen, and she’s smirking at you, obviously pleased with her nickname. You scoff at her - frankly quite feeble - attempt.

“That was weak, carrot stick, but yeah, I could go for that. You know how I like my coffee.” You reply, keeping your eyes on your computer as you go over the club’s coaching schedules - it’s nearing the end of the summer, but you like to make sure that everything is arranged at least a week in advance now, especially after all the trouble you had last season, what with last minute cancellations and additions. It was a very stressful first week back, last year. Danny spins around on her feet, her ponytail whipping around with her, and snorts.

“Yeah, I know, black like your soul.” She calls out teasingly over her shoulder as she makes her way towards the staircase.

“And my hair.”

“Of course.” She disappears around the corner, then doubles back and peeks around the wall. “Also, just so we’re clear, ‘broody’ was way better than ‘carrot stick’.”

“Whatever you say, jolly ginger giant.” You throw back snarkily as she pops back around the corner, and makes her way upstairs to the kitchen.

“That’s more like it!” You hear her yell mock-encouragingly. You chuckle under your breath; Danny never fails to make your mornings interesting.

Danny is one of the top coaches at your club. She mainly works with the younger children, teaching large groups throughout the day. You don’t have the patience to work with the kids, they are far too excitable and loud for you to deal with on a daily basis, but Danny seems to possess the ability to just sweep them all under her wings. They all look up to her - you joke that it’s because she’s a giant, and they’re all just terrified that she’ll start yelling ‘Fee fi fo

fum’ and crush them, but it’s mainly her capacity to connect with all of the kids, no matter their age - and most of the children she has coached have grown up to be incredibly proficient tennis players. Hell, you coach some of them now, and if they keep improving the way they are now, some of them could probably compete in the grand slams.

Your phone buzzes on the desk next to the computer, and you’re pulled out of your reverie. It’s Will, texting to say that he can’t make it to dinner tonight, saying he has a date instead, and he hopes that you will ‘understand’. You growl under your breath, irritated at being blown off by your younger brother, as you had been looking forwards to meeting up for the past week and a half, ever since he had told you that he would be in town. Will lives in New York, and rarely visits you anymore, and now he’s blowing you off, for what? For some girl. When he’s just going to be leaving again in a week, and the only reason he’s visiting in the first place, according to him, is so that he could see you.

It isn’t his fault that you don’t see each other as much as you would like, you admit, that blame is split between you and your darling mother. Your ever so wonderful mum, who had disowned you and kicked you out after finding out that you had a girlfriend. She told you that you were a disgrace, and that she never wanted to see you again. She had said that you would never amount to anything, but here you are. You had put your near perfect academics to use, sorting out a transfer to Cambridge University, and had finished your philosophy degree in England. You had played for the women’s second tennis team in your first year, but quickly advanced into the first team, where you met Danny, who is now one of your closest friends - not that you would ever admit such a thing to her.

Together, you moved to London, where you bought a small apartment together, near to a tennis club. To be honest, it was less an apartment, more the top floor of a large house, but it had the same sort of effect. The house was made up of two apartments, the top floor and loft combo, which you and Danny shared, and the bottom floor slash basement. The other ‘apartment’ used to belong to Mrs Kelly, an older woman, who sometimes would make too many biscuits, and would give you the extras. She was nice. Unobtrusive, and didn’t make loud noises past nine in the evening. She didn’t really make loud noises ever, actually, except for when her grandchildren came to visit, but the noises then weren’t actually her, so your point still stands. But Mrs Kelly moved out a couple of weeks ago, and the apartment changed hands almost immediately. You haven’t met the new neighbour, but Danny has caught a glimpse of her, which is the only reason you know that the neighbor is a girl. You don’t need to meet her to know a couple of things about her, though;

  1. She watches TV a lot, and loudly

  2. Really, excessively loudly

  3. She has a dog, and you know this, because the dog definitely does not follow old Mrs Kelly’s example of making no noise. It’s very loud, and at all times too, which is really starting to grate on both yours and Danny’s nerves.




You both figure that at least one of you should introduce yourselves to her at some point, but neither of you have had the time of motivation to actually do it, so it just sits at the bottom of a list of things that you both should do, but aren’t actually urgent.

For a while, you both worked separate jobs; Danny, as a freelance journalist, and you at a small, family owned bookshop, and picking up late shifts as a bartender at a local bar.

You both continued to play tennis though, going as often as possible to the club, which was only a five minute drive away from your apartment. About a year after you had moved to London, one of the coaches at the club had to leave abruptly, and you went to the head coach to ask about possibly filling the vacancy. He agreed to hold the position until you had gotten your official qualification, and it wasn’t long after that that you became an official coach at Silas LTC. Eventually, Danny joined as a coach too, and, when the head coach moved on to another club which was offering better pay, you were promoted to his position.

That was two years ago, and now you are 26, head coach at Silas LTC, and have saved up enough money that you have almost enough to buy the club outright.

It’s Friday now, and, since Will has cancelled on you, you have no set plans for the night. You finished your last coaching session for the day half an hour ago, but you had been planning on leaving after your coffee, so that you would have time for a shower before leaving to meet your brother. Now, though, you think you might stay and just practise your serve. It’s been a couple of days since you were last able to just practise your own game, so a bit of time to yourself could be useful.

You glance up at the clock, and note that it’s ten to seven, and that’s just when Danny wanders in, setting the mug of hot coffee in front of you before settling down at her own desk. She has an hour long lesson from seven, but after that she’s leaving, and the courts should be emptier.

The buzzer for the gate goes off, and Danny rises to check the camera.

“Here come the kids.” She mumbles, buzzing the people at the gate in. “Here’s to them being somewhat tired and relaxed at this seven o’clock lesson.” She says mock enthusiastically, raising her mug as a faux toast, before draining the coffee in one long gulp.

You hear some of the children enter the clubhouse, and immediately the quiet space is overtaken by their obnoxious whining.

“Yeah,” You drawl, raising your mug and smirking at her. “Good luck with that.”

She groans.

“How did you convince me to take all of the kids lessons?”

“As if I could’ve done it.” You snort. “I probably would have ended up strangling one of them, and than we’d both be out of a job.” She chuckles, shaking her head wryly. “Besides, you should be celebrating, it’s your last session of the summer.”

“And then it’s straight back to normal, term-time lessons. Yay.” She replies monotonously.  “Anyway, when are you heading out for dinner with Will?” She asks, deciding  and your shoulders immediately tense.

“I’m not.” You reply simply, not bothering to - or wanting to - expand.

Danny knows not to push for more details.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go take my lesson now, so don’t get too lonely in here.” You ignore the obvious concern in her voice, and wave her off over your shoulder, not bothering to turn around - though admittedly that’s mainly because you know that she’d see right through your facade if you did. She’s always been able to do that.

After finishing your coffee, you continue to look over the schedule for the coming term, but the words begin to blur together into fuzzy black lines on the bright backdrop, so you give up. Checking the clock, you realise that you have at least another half an hour until Danny’s lesson will finish, so you decide to make another mug of coffee, which will hopefully be enough to get you through the hour of practise you’re planning.

You lock your computer, grab both yours and Danny’s mugs and stalk upstairs to the kitchen. You aren’t really looking where you’re going - the clubhouse is usually pretty empty at this time on a Friday, so it isn’t usually necessary - and you crash into a wall that is definitely not supposed to be there.

(And you would know, because you know this place almost as well as you know the layout of your own apartment.)

“Hey!” Exclaims a disembodied (and fairly disgruntled) voice.

You glance down at the ‘wall’.

Oh.

Right.

(Not a wall.)

The ‘wall’ was in fact a five-foot-something person.

A very attractive- nope.

“Sorry, I-” You realise that you are still very much in her personal space, so you take a step back. “I was just going to get some coffee.”

“Okay.”

You shift slightly on your feet.

“So I’m just gonna,” You gesture to the staircase, which she is currently blocking. You see the realisation spread across her face, followed by a slight pink tinge, which you definitely do not appreciate or think makes her look prettier in any way.

Not at all.

“Oh, right.” She ducks her head, and jumps off of the last step. You see the pain on her face before she even makes a noise. The noise ends up being a gasp of pain, followed quickly by a murmured ‘shit’.

You dart forwards, the hand that isn’t carrying the mugs immediately finding purchase on her hip, steadying her so that she doesn’t crumple on her ankle.

“Careful there.” You mumble, and she pushes herself back slightly, testing her ankle.

She hisses at the sensation.

“You might’ve sprained it.” You say, leaning back and retract your hand. (You ignore the tingles on your palm, which immediately replace the heat of her hip.) “I’ve got a first aid kit in my office, I can wrap it for you, if you’d like...?” You trail off, hoping she’ll fill the space.

“I- Yes please, but I suppose this means I can’t play right now.” She replies, pouting and leaning against the handrail of the staircase.

You chuckle, “No, I would say you should give it a couple of days to recover.” You step back, offering her your arm. “I’m Carmilla, by the way, the head coach here.”

She gently loops her arm through yours, hopping onto her uninjured foot, and smiling. “I’m Laura.”

You smile, and lead her back around the corner and into the office, where you help her settle onto the sofa. You take out an ice pack and wrap it in a tea towel, handing it to her with the promise that it would help to reduce the swelling, and she dutifully holds it against her injured ankle, smiling thankfully up at you. You spin around, digging through the first aid kit on your desk until you find the bandages, then turn back towards her, kneeling by her foot.

You hold up the bandages, “So I’m just going to-” You gesture vaguely towards her foot with your hand, and she smiles gratefully, nodding. “So I’m going to need to take off your shoe and sock, is that okay?” You question, looking up at her for permission, and she chuckles.

“Whatever you think is necessary, doc.” You nod firmly, avoiding her eyes and shifting your attention to her tennis shoes. You unlace and loosen them, hoping that you can get her foot out without using too much force, knowing that it is already in pain.

“So if I just hold it open, can you just.. pull it out?”

“People don’t usually ask me to pull out.” Laura replies quickly, winking, and your face flushes immediately. She gasps, “Oh my god, that was completely inappropriate, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She hits herself in the forehead with the butt of her hand and you drop your eyes towards the floor resolutely, hoping that your fringe will hide the fire in your cheeks. “Can we please pretend that I never said that?” She asks, her voice embarrassed and pleading.

You puff out stale air from your lungs.

(Absentmindedly, you realise you must have stopped breathing at some point.)

“Right, so I’m just gonna-” You begin, and Laura quickly cuts you off.

“Okay, and I’ll-”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so-”

You get the shoe off of her foot relatively easily, but her breath stutters as you pull down her sock over her swollen ankle.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re fine-”

“It’s almost-”

“Done.” She breathes out a poorly hidden sigh of relief when you finally manage to get the sock off of her foot, and leans back against the sofa cushions. You stuff the sock haphazardly into the shoe that’s laying on the floor next to you.

“So,” You begin, needing to fill the awkward silence that has settled over the two of you, it’s weight stifling in the small room. “Are you new to the club, or something?” At her raised eyebrow, you expand. “It’s just, I don’t remember seeing you around, and I’m here pretty much everyday, y’know, being head coach and all, and it’s just that I’m pretty sure I would remember seeing you around, because-” Thankfully, she takes mercy on you, and interrupts your rambling.

She giggles.

“Oh god, you’re so cute!” You grumble, because you are not in any way ‘cute’, and practically everybody who has ever spoken to you can attest to that. When she sees your glare she just grins, shaking her head defiantly. “No, you definitely are.” You narrow your eyes at her. “Okay, sure, you’re incredibly scary.” She concedes, albeit mockingly. “But you’re right, I’m new here, I just moved to a new apartment, and this club is really close, so I thought ‘why not?’, you know?”

You nod, because you do know. The same thought process has gone through your head upon discovering the close proximity of the club in regards to your new apartment. To be fair, though, you were coming from a tennis filled background, and had played it all throughout university, the years leading up to your move, so it wasn’t a particularly big jump.

“Do you play a lot?” You ask as you wrap the bandages around her injured ankle, making sure that it’s sufficiently tight, while also trying not to hurt her.

“Not as much as I would like to.” Laura admits, shrugging slightly. “Sometimes I just get really absorbed in my work, and I forget that I need to leave the house and get fresh exercise and air, you know?”

“So you’re not looking to play competitively?”

“Oh god no.” She exclaims, laughing. “No. I mean, I enjoy the sport and all, but I am definitely not good enough to play competitions, plus I have next to no time, thanks to work. No, I just like playing. Y’know, just for fun.” She shrugs again, and smiles at you.

“Okay.”

“Do you ever play for fun?” She asks, and the answer sticks slightly in your throat. You enjoy the sport, obviously, but thanks to your heavy involvement at the club, you rarely get to play just for fun. You can’t really remember the last time you just played a friendly match against someone, it’s always been a tournament match.

“Not so much anymore.” You eventually reply, realising that you had gotten so caught up in your own thoughts, that you hadn’t actually answered her. “It’s hard to find the time.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders.

“Have you finished wrapping my ankle?” Laura questions softly.

You glance down at your hands. Your hands had gone through the movements necessary to treat the ankle automatically, and you must have finished without realising it. As it is, your hand is simply cradling her ankle, thumb gently rubbing circles just above the joint.

You blush, quickly withdrawing your hand and straightening up, needing to put some distance between yourself and the shorter, blonde woman.

You clear your throat, nodding, and say “Yes, um, yeah.” You awkwardly rub the back of your neck with your left hand. She thanks you, smiling, and carefully pulls her sock and shoe back on.

“So, are you good to get back home?” The question gives her pause, and she stops midway through tying her shoes, groaning. “Is your car here?”

“It’s getting repaired.” Laura sighs. “I walked today.”

“Well you can’t walk back with that,” You tell her, gesturing at her injured ankle with your hand. “I don’t care how nearby you live.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thanks, I definitely didn’t realise that.” She replies snarkily.

“No, I didn’t- I just meant that- ” You huff in frustration; how is it that this girl - who is practically a stranger to you - can have such a large (and negative) effect on your words. “Look. If you don’t mind motorbikes, then I can give you a lift.” You conclude, your voice a little more gruff than you had been intending.

Laura tilts her head to the side - considering your offer, you suppose.

“You got a spare helmet?” She asks, after a second, and you shrug, gesturing to your desk with a small flick of your head. On the floor beneath your desk sit three helmets, two of them are matt black, and the other is a deep red, almost burgundy. “Why do you have three?” She asks, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

You shrug.

“Okay, so,” She draws out the word, her gaze lifting back from the helmets to meet yours. “Do you want me to wait for you? Will you be long?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ve just gotta tell Danny that I’m going, and that she’ll need to lock up.”

You spin back around to face your desk and take off your tennis hoodie, leaving you in just a tank top. You grab your leather jacket, throwing it on, and pocket your keys.

“Which helmet do you want?” You ask, and she just hums. You don’t bother to turn around immediately, and just continue to save the files to your computer, before logging out and shutting the computer down. Laura still hasn’t answered by the time you’ve finished with the computer, so you turn around. She’s gazing in your vague direction, expression blank, and her cheeks are tinted slightly pink. “Laura?” You probe, cautiously, and she jumps, the pink tinge quickly replaced by a burning red, and, wow.

(You didn’t know cheeks could get that red.)

“Hmm, what?” She asks, her voice slightly higher pitched than it had been earlier.

“Helmet?” You ask again, eyebrow raised.

“I don’t mind.” She replies. “Whichever.”

You shrug and grab a black one for yourself, and the burgundy one for Laura. You walk past her and to the door, “C’mon.”

“Uhh, Carmilla?” You pause, and glance back at her from your place in the doorway. She gestures to her ankle. Oh right.

Her ankle.

As in the whole reason for you giving her a lift on your bike.

“Oh, sorry.” You reply sheepishly, backtracking to the sofa, and offering her you hand, so that you could help her up. She reaches up and takes your hand, pushing herself up with her other arm.

Maybe you pull her a bit too hard, or maybe you were just standing too close to the sofa in the first place, but the point is, regardless of how the situation occurred, that you somehow ended up with an armful of Laura, whose free hand (the one that wasn’t clenched tightly in your own) immediately shot to your shoulder, grasping tightly.

“Easy there cupcake.” You say, chuckling awkwardly in the hope that it will cut through the awkward tension that has settled.

She glares at you, but the red hue of her cheeks detracts from its effectiveness. “Cupcake?”

“Mhm.” You take a step back, because the proximity was making it exceptionally difficult for you to control yourself, and not, say, pull Laura down onto the sofa with you and have your way with her. So, yeah, the step back was necessary. “Maybe a red velvet, given the colour of your cheeks.” You add, cheekily poking her with your finger.

She groans, and takes a helmet from you, unceremoniously shoving it on her head.

You laugh, and offer her your arm. “Shall we?”

She mutters something incoherent under her breath, but takes your arm nonetheless. Absently, you notice that she took the black helmet, which you had intended to wear yourself, but it looks good on her. Plus, the journey shouldn’t be too long, so it doesn’t really matter all that much.

You help her out of the clubhouse, and head over to the fence, moving slowly, as her walking pattern is more of an awkward hop right now, so she can’t move all that quickly.

“Danny!” You call out, grabbing her attention. She jogs over, raising an eyebrow at Laura’s arm, which is snugly threaded through yours. You shake your head at her, and she laughs, understanding the silent ‘don’t ask’.

(She’ll definitely ask when you get back to the apartment.)

“What’s up, Broody McGee?” She asks, winking exaggeratedly at you, and you clench your jaw in irritation.

“I’m leaving, Xena, so you’re locking up.” You growl, spinning and leaving with Laura in tow.

“See you back at the apartment, babe!” She calls out from behind you, and it takes a lot of restraint not to just flip her the bird over your shoulder, but her class is full of kids.

(You’ve learnt that ‘flipping the bird’ in front of kids is generally not a good thing.)

You set off at a slightly more brisk pace.

To her credit though, Laura doesn’t complain, merely hops a little more frantically to keep up with your new speed. You expel a lung full of air through your clenched jaw, and force yourself to slow down, leading your companion to your bike. You pull the burgundy helmet on, quickly settling into place on the bike. You zip up your leather jacket, then turn to help Laura get on the bike behind you. You can’t see much of her face through the visor of the helmet, but her eyes crinkle a little, and you think she smiles at you.

“So, where to, cupcake?”

She rattles off her address, and it makes you pause midway through turning your key in the ignition.

“What?” She asks, and you just shrug, turning back to face the bike.

“Guess we’re neighbours, cutie.” You reply, smirking as you rev the engine. Laura leans forwards, moulding her body against yours, and her arms wrap around your waist. Her body heat seeps through all of your clothes, and ignites something in your stomach. You push the feeling away, disregarding it, and focus all your attention on the bike. You weave through the streets, most of them unusually empty for a friday night.

And if you go a little faster than usual, and the speed makes Laura clutch on to you a little tighter, well, that really isn’t your fault. After all, what’s the point in having empty roads if you can’t make use of them, right?

You ease the bike into the driveway to the house, and kick out the stand. You hop off of the bike, and pull the helmet off, shaking your hair as it frees. Propping the helmet on the bike, you quickly run a hand through your hair, turning to face Laura.

You offer her your arm again, and she takes it, swinging her leg over the seat, and carefully lowering her weight onto her uninjured ankle. She’s still leaning against the bike when she takes off the helmet, and shakes her hair loose, going through similar actions to the ones you had, only moments earlier.

You allow yourself this moment to just stare at her.

Your eyes drag up her, tracing her features almost reverently. She clears her throat, and your eyes immediately flick back to hers. She holds your gaze, her face flushed.

“Shall we?” You nod towards the house. She takes a step forwards, but her leg trembles, and she loses her balance. You lean forwards, taking her weight and keeping her upright. “You don’t go on bikes often, huh?” You tease, and she shakes her head.

“More of a ‘pedal powered bike’ kind of girl, I admit.”

You chuckle; figures.

“C’mon then, vanilla.”

****  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "laura has a dog - who cares what the dog is called, he's just a plot device" - an excerpt from my plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said a week, but it wasn't a week. Soz. also as of yet it's un beta-d, bc i just wanted to put it up, so sorry about any glaring errors it may have.  
> this may end up being 4 chapters, idk, we'll see. I have a v basic plan, but its not split into chapters or anything.  
> again, come say hi @ indragram.tumblr.com

After you had helped Laura to her apartment - and she had assured you that she would be perfectly able to handle herself from there on out - you told her that, should she need any help treating her ankle, or even just another lift someplace - while her car remained out of action - you were upstairs, and she should just come over.

 

Afterwards, you returned to your own living quarters, and made yourself a green tea. While the tea was brewing, you changed out of your ‘coaching’ clothes, and into a loose, black t-shirt, and some red flannel shorts. Grabbing your current book off of your bedside table, you swung back into the living room - making a short detour to the kitchen, where you grabbed your tea - and then sprawled across one of the sofas, book propped in one hand, other hand pushing your thick-rimmed glasses into place.

 

During coaching days, you tended to opt for contacts. Over your years playing tennis, you have broken several pairs of glasses on court, and, quite soon after taking over as Head coach at Silas, you decided that enough was enough, and found some suitable contact lenses. Glasses are, after all, quite expensive to replace, and you aren’t exactly swimming in money. If you were, you would hardly be sharing a small apartment with Danny.

 

Okay, well, maybe that’s not true.

 

You _do_ need Danny, and not just because you can’t cook to save your life, while she is practically a kitchen god.

 

(Seriously. You would force her to go on masterchef, if it didn’t mean that she would leave and take all of her glorious home-cooked meals with her.)

 

Not that you’d ever tell her, but you’re glad you met Danny. She keeps you company, safe from your own head, and she forces you to be social. Not to mention the fact that you only got this job because of her persistent nagging. After the slot had opened up, you’d tip-toed around it, not willing to put yourself up for the job when you were sure that you wouldn’t get it. Danny was the one who had convinced you to go for it, had talked to the owner and head coach at the time, explaining exactly why you would be perfect for the job.

 

Suddenly, your stomach growls, derailing your train of thought. A quick glance at the clock tells you that Danny should be finishing up her lesson, so she won’t be back for at least another half an hour. Sighing to yourself, you bookmark your page, and hop off of the sofa, and back into the kitchen, where you grab an apple. When you get back to the sofa, you dig your teeth into the fruit. The tart sweetness floods your mouth, and you smile, chewing. Then you collapse backwards onto the sofa, but you don’t bother grabbing your book, as you’d rather just finish your apple.

 

When all that’s left is the core, you grab your mug of tea, taking a sip to test it’s temperature. After deciding that it definitely won’t scald you and make you lose feeling in your tongue for a couple of days, you gulp the rest down, and plop the apple core into the - now empty - mug.

 

Danny gets back to the apartment around half an hour later, and by that time you’ve relaxed back into your comfortable sprawl across the entirety of the sofa, and your face is buried in your book. Danny heads straight into the kitchen, opening the cupboards to grab a glass. You hear the tap turn off and on, and the muted clang of a glass being set down on the wooden counter.

 

“You want a drink?” She calls out, and you refuse, waving your arm over the top of the sofa. She adds something about making a stir-fry, and you respond positively, but still don’t look up from your book. You’re fairly sure that she’s going to bring up Laura, and you want to put that conversation off for as long as possible.

 

* * *

 

Later, when you’ve put a crappy horror film on, and your dinner bowls have been stacked on the coffee table, along with a couple of empty beer bottles, and you and Danny are kicked back on the sofa, she finally brings it up.

 

“So-” She pauses to take a swig from her current bottle. “Who was the girl?”

 

You make a noncommittal noise around a mouthful of beer.

 

“Seriously though, who was she?” You chuckle, but don’t answer, and Danny prods you with her foot - which, okay, is unfair, because her legs are unnaturally long, and you definitely can’t reach her with yours - and then it’s her turn to laugh at your look of mock anger. “She was cute.”

 

“Quit with the sex dreams, Xena, it would never work.” You growl, only half jokingly.

 

“Oh?” She has the grin plastered on her face. The one that means she thinks she has something against you, which she doesn’t.

 

Obviously.

 

“And why’s that?” She asks, lips still stretched back in a way that is, frankly, way too smug for your liking, so you decide to knock her down. Not that you wouldn’t have done that anyway.

 

“Well, first of all, she’s need a stepladder to even kiss you-” You trail off, winking suggestively, and Danny immediately flushes. She always was easy to fluster, you think, grinning.

 

“Okay, I give.” She turns back to face the film, where the screen is still lighting up with splashes of gore and poorly sequenced zombie deaths, switching between dark and light scenes, causing the room to intermittently plunge into darkness. You think maybe she’s given up, and relax back into the pillows on the sofa, draining the remains of the bottle in your hands. “Well, at least she won’t need the stepladder to kiss you.”

 

The liquid goes down the wrong pipe, and you cough. Danny laughs, slapping her leg in a way that you would usually mock her for, were you not dying. A particularly violent, chest-hacking cough surprises you, and the bottle clatters from your hand, thudding against the floor loudly enough to compete with your coughs.

 

A hand finds it’s way onto your back, and a half full glass of water is pushed into one of your hands. You drink from it greedily, slamming it down onto the coffee table as another wave of coughs rattle from your chest, beating your chest with the heel of your free hand.

 

When your coughs have finally died down, she laughs, “ _Damn_ , you've got it bad.”

 

You glower at her, reaching for the glass and draining it’s remains, as your throat feels uncomfortably dry.

 

She refuses to back down, and you eventually give in, though you tell yourself that it’s only because your recent near death experience is messing with your self discipline.

 

“She’s Laura. Just joined the club.”

 

“Why were you giving her a lift?”

 

“She twisted her ankle.”

 

Danny just raises her eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your monotonous answers, whilst simultaneously asking for more information.

 

“I gave her a lift home, and found out that she lives downstairs.”

 

“On the bike- wait. Downstairs?” You nod. “No way, she’s the assbag neighbour?” She asks, incredulous, than she frowns, narrowing her eyes at you. “You’re lying.”

 

“I swear.”

 

“Okay, but this is good.” Her face relaxes into a grin, which immediately makes you feel uneasy.

 

“It is?”

 

“You can’t avoid her.” She exclaims gleefully, jumping onto the other end of the sofa and settling with her back pressed into the armrest. “You have such a thing for her already, and it’s just going to get _bigger_!” She laughs, stretching her legs out over your lap.

 

Your cheeks immediately heats up, and you shove her legs off, shielding your face from her so that she doesn’t see the blush. You grumble a ‘shut up’ at her and grab the dinner bowls, going into the kitchen to escape her onslaught.

 

She follows, bouncing on her feet and grinning in a way that makes her look slightly maniacal.

 

“Oh this is precious.” She chuckles, sitting on the counter behind you while you wash the bowls in the sink. “The big bad wolf has a _crush_.”

 

“Shut it, orange tree.” You growl, turning around and pointing a soapy hand at her in a - hopefully - menacing fashion. She purses her lips and mimes zipping them closed, so you turn back to face the sink.

 

Not even a minute later, she bursts out “ _Carmilla and Laura, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-_ ”

 

You find that a hand full of soap suds to the face shuts her up quite effectively.

 

* * *

 

You wake up on Saturday morning to sunlight clawing through the open blinds, burning your eyes. You throw the duvet over your head, and you hear someone chuckle.

 

“Go away Danny.” Your voice is low and hoarse from a combination of sleep and alcohol, and it just makes her laugh harder.

 

“Jeeze, sunshine, I was just gonna tell you that I can cover for you this morning.”

 

You pull the duvet down slightly, so that it rests across your nose, leaving just your eyes and the top of your head exposed.

 

“You look like shit, Carm.”

 

“Gee, a girl’s gonna get a complex if you keep saying things like that.” You reply sarcastically, and she chuckles.

 

Her face quickly sets into something serious. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll open up the clubhouse today.” She puts a couple of pills and a bottle of water on the bedside table nearest to you, before striding over to the window and pulling the curtains closed.

 

“I’ll call you around lunchtime to make sure you aren’t dead, okay?” She turns to leave the room.

 

“Danny?” She stops, turning and raising an eyebrow at you. “Thanks.”

 

It’s not much, you know, but its all you can say. She replies ‘Careful Carm, people might think you actually like me’ but her eyes are soft, and she smiles at you warmly, so you know that she understands how thankful for her you really are.

 

She leaves the apartment with a final ‘Catch you later, Vamp!’ thrown over her shoulder, and you allow yourself to smile, before sinking back into the warmth of your bed, and drifting back off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

You’re woken up three hours later, at 11am, by incessant barking.

 

You grumble to yourself, and roll over, sitting up on the edge of your bed. Yawning, you uncap the bottle and take a swig, trying to rid your mouth of the taste of day old beer. Than you swallow one of the painkillers Danny left for you, and chase it with more water from the bottle.

 

The barking persists.

 

You grab a black hoodie from the floor and chuck it on, scratching the back of your head as you wander into the kitchen. Absentmindedly, you press the necessary buttons to make a mug of coffee, then spin around on one leg to grab something to eat from the fruit bowl. The spinning wasn’t a good idea, and you have to wait a moment for the blood to stop pounding behind your eyes, your hands clenched onto the counter. It passes quickly, though - no doubt thanks to Danny’s painkillers - and you grab an apple, taking a large bite.

 

Five minutes later, when you’ve drained the coffee and the apple core has been discarded, the barking is still going on, so you grab your keys from the bowl by the door and trundles down the stairs to Laura’s apartment.

 

Your fist thuds against the door, and you hear feet scuffling, followed by a muffled curse, before the door is wrenched open, and you are face to face with a flustered Laura. You open her mouth to say something, but a flash of fur slips past Laura, crashing into you legs momentarily, before sitting at the front door, tail wagging frantically and tongue hanging out of the side of it’s mouth.

 

“Kirsch!” The blonde girl exclaims. The dog - Kirsch, you presume - whines, and hangs its head, before trailing back into the apartment. “I’m so sorry, you’re here about the noise, right? It’s Kirsch. I mean, you probably already knew that, right? Especially since I just called him that, and it’s not like I would be the one barking, because that’s just ridiculous, and, um...”

 

She’s babbling, so you cut her off with a low ‘Cupcake’ before she can embarrass herself further.

 

(You try to ignore how cute you think she’s being, but it’s difficult.)

 

“Right.” She takes a breath, composing herself. “He’s just a bit restless, you see. I haven’t really had a chance to walk him, because of the whole ‘my ankle is twisted and hurts everytime I put weight on it’ kind of thing.”

 

“I can walk him, if you’d like.”

 

What the- That wasn’t what you were going to say. You want to take it back, because you’ve never walked a dog, and you don’t really know what to do, and her dog looks kind of big, and you aren’t entirely sure how to handle him. You want to take it back, but as soon as you’d blurted those words out, Laura’s eyes had lit up, and a small, irritatingly hopeful smile pulled at her lips.

 

Damnit.

 

“Really? You’d do that?”

 

Oh damn it all to hell.

 

“Yeah, it is my fault you’re injured and all, so it’s the least I can do.”

 

What the _hell_ have you just gotten yourself into?

 

Laura looks so happy, and you curse your stupid, internalised weakness for pretty girls with prettier smiles, because, well - hell - it’s probably going to get you killed someday.

 

* * *

 

You go upstairs to get ready for a run, because if you’re going to be walking the stupid dog, you might as well get something out of it as well.

 

The weather recently has been pleasantly warm, so you decide that you’ll be fine with just some shorts and a sports vest. You frown at your hair in the mirror, it’s messy. Actually it’s more than messy, but you’re going to be having a shower after the run anyway, so you just run your fingers through it a little to get rid of the obvious knots, then pull it up into a semi-neat ponytail.

 

You grab your keys back off of the table by the door, and head down the stairs to Laura’s apartment again.

 

She opens the door immediately after you knock, and the smile on her face makes you feel as though you’re looking into the sun.

 

You step cautiously into the apartment, not wanting to get bowled over by her massively over enthusiastic puppy dog, and she immediately links arms with you.

 

You tense, but quickly remind yourself that this she’s probably only doing it because she’s injured, and so has trouble walking normally.

 

So you allow yourself to relax into her grip.

 

You barely take note of your surroundings, your mind too focused on her smile, on her arm looped tightly through yours, on the way she leans into you slightly with every step she has to take on her bad ankle. You try not to let her closeness get to you head.

 

Honestly, you _try_.

 

She leads you into what you assume is the main room - it all seems pretty open planned, and the room is a combination of a dining room, kitchen, and living room. There are a couple of cardboard boxes stacked against the back wall, and small piles of books are scattered throughout the room.

 

(You briefly wonder if that’s an artistic choice of Laura’s.)

 

“Sorry about the mess.” She says, noting the path of your eyes.

 

Your gaze snaps back up to look at her.

 

She’s blushing slightly.

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

Kirsch chooses this moment to make his presence known, and he pads into view from behind another doorway, which leads who-knows-where.

 

You take this moment to properly examine the dog, who has now become your temporary walking buddy. He’s a large, chocolate labrador, and his pink tongue is lolling out the side of his mouth as he stares at you from behind Laura’s legs.

 

Can dogs smile?

 

He looks like he’s smiling.

 

You guess he won’t be _such_ a bad running partner, provided he can keep up with you.

 

* * *

 

After Laura has gone through everything you need to know about walking a dog at least, say, _three_ times, and thanked you at least twice that, you and Kirsch eventually get on your way.

 

It’s a short walk to the nearest park - only about five minutes, at your speed - and you unclip the lead as soon as you get there. He bounds off momentarily, before stopping and turning back to look at you hopefully.

 

Ah.

 

Laura had warned you about this.

 

The dog is a tennis ball enthusiast.

 

At your hesitation, Kirsch’s ‘puppy dog’ eyes intensify - a trait unfair of him to have, given that Laura has told you that he is, in fact, four years old - and you sigh, pulling out the tennis ball Laura had shoved into your hands as you were leaving.

 

Not that you’re showing off or anything, but as tennis has been pretty much your entire life these past few years, you have pretty toned muscles. This means that you can throw the tennis ball pretty fair, or at least, you’ve always assumed that it was far.

 

Kirsch returns to you with the ball very quickly, and you try to shake off the bruise that inflicts on your ego.

 

* * *

 

You’re sitting on a bench by the edge of the grass, just under the treeline, so that you don’t get burnt. Kirsch is sitting to your right, panting heavily, and the ball lays discarded at your feet, dirty and covered in the dog’s saliva.

 

Gross.

 

Thankfully, Laura also warned you about that, and made sure to give you more then enough poo bags, that you would definitely have one left over for you to carry it back to her apartment in. You are very thankful for her foresight - though you suppose it’s more hindsight, for her, at least, since she’s probably experienced all of this before, as the dog is actually hers. Nonetheless, you’re grateful that you don’t have to carry the slobbery tennis ball back in your bare hands.

 

“How did your mum ever convince me to do this?” You ask out loud, glancing over at Kirsch.

 

His head lolls back so that he can look at you.

 

He’s still panting, and his tongue hangs out the side of his mouth. He just looks at her.

 

“Yeah, you’re right, this was all me, wasn’t it?”

 

The dog lies down, and you take that as a yes. It wasn’t really a question anyway.

 

* * *

 

“She’s not even that pretty.”

 

Kirsch barks.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He barks again, but louder this time.

 

“I know she’s pretty, you can stop barking.”

 

He barks once more - just to be sure, you guess - then stops.

 

* * *

 

You get back to the house just over an hour later, and head straight to Laura’s door, Kirsch trotting calmly at your heels.

 

When Laura opens the door, the dogs bursts towards her and you quickly let go of the lead, not wanting to be yanked along with him.

 

Laura starts cooing at him, bending slightly and ruffling the fur atop his head, before straightening up to smile at you.

 

“He wasn’t bad, was he?” She asks, reaching forwards to take the bag containing the tennis ball from your grip, before bending down again to unleash the dog, who dutifully sits by her side, tail flopping tiredly against the floor.

 

“He was fine.” You reply, reaching into your back pocket to grab the spare bags, and handing those to her as well.

 

“Great.” She nods. “Good. Well, do you want to come in for a cup of tea or something?”

 

“I-” You’re tempted, you really are, but you need to get to the tennis club. You can’t just leave Danny on her own there all day. “Sorry, cupcake, but I can’t today.” You smile apologetically at her, but the smile on her face still falters.

 

“Well, I need to do something.” She claims indignantly. “I can’t just let you give up _your_ time to walk _my_ dog, and not give you anything in return.”

 

You laugh, “Really, I’m not doing this so that you owe me or something.”

 

She frowns. “Come on, there must be something I can do. I mean, I’m the shitty neighbour, there’s probably a whole host of things you want me to do, right?”

 

The images that flash through your mind are entirely inappropriate for this conversation, so you push them way, way back.

 

“Carm.”

 

You shake your head, to get clear your head, and smile slightly.

 

“Well, if you _insist_ ,” You begin, and she raises an eyebrow, a silent prompt for you to continue. “Our old neighbour used to give us biscuits every now and then.”

 

“Consider it done.”

 

“Well, I’d best go.” You trail off, gesturing towards the stairway with your thumbs.

 

“Oh.” She swallows. “Right, yeah.” Laura pushes off of the doorway, on which she has been leaning for most of the conversation, and moves towards you. She wraps you in a hug before you’ve even realised her intentions, and you hesitate momentarily, before wrapping your arms around her waist in return, rubbing her lower back gently.

 

The hug lasts longer than it should, and you’re both blushing when you pull away.

 

“So, I’ll see you later?” She asks, smiling tentatively at you.

 

“Cupcake, I live upstairs.” You reply, smirking at her.

 

She mumbles ‘shut up’ and punches you lightly on the arm, and you chuckle.

 

“Yeah, I’ll see you around.” You finish, more seriously, before turning and leaving, a smile glued to your lips.

 

* * *

 

Later, when you and Danny get back from the club, you find a small tupperware box in front of your door. A blue post-it note is stuck to the lid, and you grin as you read the message.

 

Carmilla,

You say biscuits, and I raise you to brownies.

I will be your favourite neighbour ever!

Laura :)

 

And underneath is a phone number, which you assume is hers.

 

(Whose else would it be?)

 

“A message from your lady love?” Danny teases, smirking when you blush and stuff the note into the pocket of your hoodie.

 

“Shut up, tree trunk.”

 

Danny just laughs at you.

 

Bitch.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Danny has both good and bad timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the concluding part!
> 
> as always, my tumblr is indragram.tumblr.com  
> (feel free to say hi or give me prompts or whatever)

So it sort of becomes a thing.

 

For the next week, you walk Laura’s dog every day, and when you get back from the tennis club, later in the day, you find some form of baked goods on your doorstep. Danny likes them; she’s always had a sweet tooth. Whenever you go to a coffee shop, she always goes for a hot chocolate, whereas you’ve always preferred a strong coffee to mass produced confectionaries.

 

That’s not to say that you don’t appreciate the gesture - because you do, it shows that she took your jokey remark to heart, and you’ve always respected someone who follows through on commitments - it’s just that you just didn’t think she’d go all out.

 

It’s a week after your first meeting that her ankle starts to feel even remotely better, and she decides to join you on one of your morning outings with Kirsch.

 

This means that you can’t go jogging like you usually do, but you’re glad to have the opportunity to get to know her better, so you don’t complain. She greets you at the door with a grin. The dog is sitting at her feet, his tail wagging and his tongue out.

 

(The dog has his tongue out most of the time. Danny told you that it’s because it’s still kind of summertime, meaning it’s hot, and the dog has dark fur, so he has to find an easy way to get rid of the excess heat. Oddly you kind of sympathise; your dark hair can get uncomfortably hot in the sun.)

 

“Heya Kirsch.” You coo, and he takes that as an invitation, rushing forwards and nuzzling your leg with his face. You smile, and reach down to scratch his ears. Laura’s watching you from her position in the doorway, and you blush as you realise that you have yet to greet her. “Um, hey cupcake.” You say, waving awkwardly with your right hand, as you try to will the blush to leave your face.

 

She laughs. “I see how it is, you like my dog more than me.” She exclaims in mock offence, clutching at her heart melodramatically.

 

Your ears are burning, so you mumble for her to shut up, reaching forwards to gently punch her shoulder.

 

Kirsch, it would appear, has other ideas, and he headbuts you none-too-gently on the back of your knee, which causes you to lurch forwards into the blonde’s personal space.

 

Your hands instinctively reach for her shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself, but just before they make contact you see her eyes widen, and suddenly you know exactly what is going to happen.

 

Sure enough, her footing falters, and you both start to fall. You use your joint momentum to flip positions with her, and land with a thud against the hardwood floor of her apartment.

 

The air rushes out of your lungs in a sharp (pained) huff.

 

Your shoulders and back hurt.

 

Like, a lot.

 

But luckily you had enough sense to keep your head forwards - so that it didn’t crack against the floor - because you’re pretty sure that if you hadn’t, you would have gotten - at the very least - a concussion.

 

And maybe a headache, which would be bad, because your back is already throbbing enough, and you don’t want anything else to be doing that.

 

You close your eyes, leaning your head back against the cool floorboards.

 

 _God_ , that hurts.

 

Laura’s calling your name, but you just groan, not wanting to open your eyes. You try and convince yourself that it will all hurt less if you just ignore the pain and pretend you’re still in bed.

 

You attempt to mentally replace the cold wooden flooring with your soft bed sheets.

 

Hands find your cheeks, and thumbs stroking at the skin there, silently urging you to respond, but you don’t.

 

You’re pretending that you are still in bed.

 

If you were still in bed right now, Kirsch would never have pushed you, and you wouldn’t have fallen into Laura. If it hadn’t been for the blonde’s already injured ankle, she wouldn’t have lost her balance so easily, and you wouldn’t have felt obliged to take the fall for her.

 

And, if you were still in bed right now, she wouldn’t be on top of you either.

 

Wait.

 

She’s-

 

Oh god.

 

Your eyes fly open to meet worried brown eyes.

 

Oh god, she’s on top of you.

 

She’s literally straddling your hips right now.

 

Oh _god_.

 

“Carmilla.” She’s whispering frantically now, hands pressing warmly against your face, and you hum in response.

 

(You’re not sure you trust your voice enough not to betray you right now.)

 

“Hey, talk to me.” She pleads, leaning down closer to you, and your eyes dip down momentarily.

 

She’s wearing a loose top.

 

( _Oh dear god_.)

 

Your eyes find a spot on the ceiling behind her head and stay there.

 

She asks if you’re alright, and you hum in a way you hope is reassuring. She repeats the question, and you relent.

 

You try to get a hold of your emotions enough to murmur “M’ fine.”

 

You aren’t.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

Even Laura knows you aren’t.

 

You laugh - because this all seems kind of ridiculous to you - but that makes your chest ache even more, and then you’re just wheezing. The air burns your throat both ways, but you can’t stop yourself from gasping for it desperately.

 

Laura squeaks, then her hands slide down the back of your neck to your shoulderblades, urging you into a sitting position. She’s sitting in your lap now, and her hands are rubbing your back soothingly, but her gaze is still fixed on you, brow creased in worry.

 

“M’ back hurts.” You groan, closing your eyes and leaning forwards so that your forehead is resting against her shoulder.

 

It’s her stupid dog’s fault that you fell over in the first place, so you figure that she owes it to you to be your headrest.

 

“If you guys are going to be doing this kind of kinky shit than you should probably close the door.”

 

Enter Danny: moment killer extraordinaire.

 

* * *

 

Eventually Danny was able to control her laughter enough to help you onto a sofa in Laura’s living room.

 

It’s a Saturday, and Laura doesn’t have work today, so she agrees to look after you, while Danny covers your shifts at the club. You’re only doing one lesson today, so it isn’t that bad, but you are very grateful, as you definitely couldn’t teach a lesson with your back in this much pain.

 

Your back, on the other hand, hurts like a bitch.

 

And now, thanks to Danny and her wonderful talent of perfect timing, Laura isn’t on your lap anymore to distract you from the pain.

 

So you’re sprawled on your stomach across Laura’s sofa, and Kirsch is lying on the floor to your left. Your hand is dangling off of the side of the sofa, and every now and then you scratch the dog behind his ears, which causes him to nuzzle into your palm, then whine when your hand stops or retracts, even for a second.

 

You can hear Laura moving about in the kitchen area, the muted clack of mugs being placed on wooden surfaces, the sound of the kettle, and of cupboard doors opening and closing as she looks around.

 

She’s making you a cup of tea.

 

“You said one sugar, right?” She calls, voice carrying easily through the room.

 

“Yes please.”

 

A minute or so later she finally makes her way back over to you, placing the mugs on the coffee table before easing you into an upright position. She quickly settles down next to you, handing you your mug and flicking on the TV with her other hand.

 

“Anything in particular that you wanna watch?” She asks, opening up the guide and scrolling through slowly.

 

You shrug, carefully, so as not to dislodge the mug of steaming tea currently cradled between your hands. “Got Netflix?”

 

She laughs.

 

“Do I ever.”

 

* * *

 

Neither you nor Laura were particularly bothered about which film to watch, so you just picked one at random.

 

To be honest, you aren’t even sure what it’s called, but it’s terrible.

 

(You’ve spent too much time looking at your blonde companion’s face than the screen, the plot has kind of passed you by.)

 

* * *

 

“Tell me that isn’t the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen.”

 

“What even is that supposed to be?”

 

* * *

 

“How is that supposed to be scary? It looks like a deformed teddy bear.”

 

“I _know_ , right? What’s it gonna do, hug them to death?”

 

“ _I am hug-atron, bringer of cuddles, fear me!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Laura gets very into mocking the film, and her happiness is contagious. It makes you forget the pain in your back and shoulders, and you relax into the sofa. You’re sitting very close together - despite there being ample room for both of you to sit separately - and her warmth seeps through both of your clothing.

 

Her heat is addictive, and you can’t stop yourself from edging ever closer to her.

 

(You don’t think it bothers her, since she seems to be doing the same thing.)

 

* * *

 

It’s a week later when anything really drastic happens between Laura and you, and it’s all Danny’s fault.

 

You’ve been working out in the living room with your punching bag, and Danny’s run out to the shops to get some milk.

 

(You’d run out and she had cried wolf, telling you that all english households should have -  _at the very least -_ enough milk to make a cup of tea, and you had none at all. You think she’s just being overdramatic.)

 

So you’re in your living room, dressed in a black sports bra and some shorts - because a shirt would just get really sweat stained, and that results in more washing for you, which is really not your favourite job - when someone starts knocking on your door.

 

You growl under your breath, irritated that your work out is being disrupted just because Danny forgot her keys - because really, who else could it be.

 

You stalk over to the door, frown set on your face, and yank it open, ready to read your roommate her rights, because she - of _all_ people - should know not to interrupt you when you’re in the middle of-

 

Oh.

 

(Not Danny.)

 

Laura looks mildly terrified, so you school your features into something a little less, well, _murderous_. Nothing too mild though, because, whether she knows it or not, the blonde still interrupted your workout, which is practically a capital offense, as far as you’re concerned.

 

“Laura?” She flinches slightly, and you sigh, reaching out a hand and letting it rest on her shoulder, in what you hope is a comforting gesture. You try to mame eye contact with her to convey the fact that your glare hadn't been meant for her, but her eyes are anywhere but yours right now.

 

They are, as it happens, roaming all over your exposed skin, hungrily.

 

She licks her lips.

 

Your cheeks feel warm, and the fluttering in your stomach - ever present when you are in the company of the blonde - seems to intensify.

 

“Laura...?”

 

Her head snaps up immediately, and her face flushes deep red.

 

“I- uhhh, sorry, Carm, I didn’t know you were-” She gestures helplessly at you with her right hand, before running it through her hair. “Danny invited me over.” She finishes lamely, face still flaming red, whilst her hands fiddle awkwardly with the bottom of her shirt.

 

The corners of your mouth lift up into a small smirk, and you trail your fingers from her shoulder to her hand, grasping it tightly before yanking her inside. She stumbles, hands finding your hips.

 

Your abs twitch.

 

“Are we making a habit out of this, Cupcake?”

 

She stutters, and you chuckle.

 

You take her moment of speechlessness to fully take in the blonde’s appearance. She’s wearing slightly ripped, skinny jeans, a burgundy shirt, and an unzipped black hoody. The red hue of her cheeks is stubbornly refusing to fade, and you can’t help your sharp intake of breath when you notice just how blown her pupils are.

 

The brown in Laura’s eyes is practically invisible.

 

Your heart stutters in your chest.

 

You’re leaning in before you can stop yourself.

 

Before you can remind yourself how much of a bad idea this is, because she is you neighbour, and you can’t avoid her if this goes to shit, and-

 

But all of the reasons as to why this could be a bad idea fly out of your head when her fingers clutch desperately at your exposed hips, and her nose brushes against yours. Her warm breath is fanning your lips, and you raise your hands, tentatively cupping her flushed cheeks.

 

You make eye contact again, trying to make sure that this is something she wants. That you hadn’t been imagining the lust in her eyes.

 

She surges forwards, catching your lips and immediately burying your doubts, and all you can feel is-

 

Soft.

 

Her lips are _incredibly_ soft, and they work confidently against yours, creating the most delicious friction.

 

You edge her back towards the door, kicking it closed and pushing her up against it. She moans gently into your mouth as her back comes into contact with the solid surface, but you swallow the sound, burying your hands into her hair, continuing to press yourself into her eager body.

 

Her hands press into you, and one of them slides around to your back, the fingers trailing up your back, feeling their way up the ridges of your spine.

 

You pull back, gently tugging at her lower lip, but you release it when you come to rest your forehead against hers.

 

You’re both panting.

 

It’s the only noise in the apartment.

 

It’s animalistic, _needy_ , and it makes you want to just pick her up and carry her into your bedroom.

 

Laura’s quick breaths are passing air directly from her lungs into yours.

 

You want to say something, but you can’t. You never were very good with words.

 

Well, not like _this_.

 

You open your eyes, slowly, and take in the blonde’s rumpled appearance. Her eyes are still closed, and her cheeks have dulled to a content pink.

 

You want to feel them, see if they’re still as hot as they were earlier, but at the same time, you don’t want to move your hands from where they are now, threaded through her hair.

 

“So...” She trails off, and her tongue darts out quickly, wetting her lips in a way.

 

You take a step back - you have to, because being so close to Laura makes it hard for you to concentrate, and you really don’t want to mess up this conversation.

 

“So, that happened.” She concludes, smiling tentatively at you.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Finally.” She says, chuckling slightly, and running a hand through her hair, which - you smugly realise - is delightfully messy.

 

“I-” That wasn’t what you were expecting her to say. “Huh?”

 

The kiss must have given her some kind of a confidence enhancer, because this is _not_ the blushing, stuttering girl who tripped over her own feet at the sight of your abs.

 

“Oh come on, I’ve been practically _throwing_ myself at you for the past two weeks.” You probably look stupid, with the way you’re just staring dumbly at her. She laughs, And it makes you blush. “You know, for a tennis coach, you’re remarkably bad at catching.”

 

This get’s your attention.

 

“ _Hey._ ” She grins at your offended expression. “That’s not fair, I didn’t know you were gay. Or even into me.”  

 

“You might’ve found out, if you’d ever asked.” She shrugs. “Besides, even if I _was_ straight, these abs,” She takes this moment to reach out and poke them, and you lurch back slightly, which makes her grin at you. “Could probably turn anyone.”

 

“So, you-” You’re a little lost, to be honest.

 

This isn’t what you were expecting.

 

“I’m definitely into you, Carm.” She smiles reassuringly at you. “Are you..?”

 

It takes you a moment to realise that she’s waiting for you to respond.

 

“Am I ‘into’ you?” She looks at you hopefully, nodding slowly to confirm that that was her question. “Yeah, _yes,_  I-” You take a deep breath to compose yourself. “Uhm, so, would you like to - maybe - go on a date with me some time?” You rush out, clenching your eyes shut.

 

She laughs and step forwards, pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of your lips.

 

“I’d really like that, Carm.”

 

You grin, and she steps closer, wrapping her arms around your neck and leaning up on her tip toes. Your arms tangle around her waist, pulling her into you.

 

Her face is buried in the crook of your neck, and she mumbles something into your shirt.

 

“What was that, cupcake?”

 

She tilts her head, so now her lips are brushing against the skin of your neck.

 

“I said, despite everything, I’m kind of glad that I’m such a klutz that I twisted my ankle at the tennis club.”

 

You hide your grin in her hair, pulling her almost impossibly closer to you.

 

Because, yeah, you’re glad too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if its a little messy, I've practically written it all today :/ exams start next week for me, and i didn't want to leave this until after that. you might've noticed that it is now part of a series, and i will throw in little snippets of their life when i have time
> 
> thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> so that's part one, hope you guys liked it :) part 2 should be up sometime in the next fortnight, but idk, cos exams and revision and shit, but hopefully other parts will be soon  
> ciao


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